Shadow Over Kiriath (48 page)

He’d thought he’d glimpsed it the day she’d arrived when she’d lifted her eyes to his there in the throne room. Being almost immediately distracted by her strong and obvious revulsion to his scars, he’d never been quite sure. When he’d found no sign of it in his subsequent dealings with her, he’d concluded it a trick of the light.

“I thought about waiting until after we were married,” she said to him now, spite sharpening her voice. “But in the end I couldn’t bear the thought of you being my first. Especially knowing you’d already shared your favors with my sister.”

“Hagin’s beard, Briellen,” Leyton exclaimed. “Don’t dig it any deeper.”

Flashing another glance at Foxton, Abramm turned and headed for the door, a tremor running through his arms and legs. His heart was beating about as fast as it could beat.

Behind him Whitethorne exclaimed, “Fire and torment, Arik! What were you thinking!”

But Foxton didn’t answer.

Abramm stepped into the dimly lit hallway outside, struggling to breathe against the nausea welling within him. Already a gauntlet of spectators lined the hallway, servants and courtiers who had somehow gotten wind of the scandal and come out to see for themselves, most of them still in their nightclothes. They shrank back against the wall, watching him fearfully as he passed. He knew his face must be dead white, which meant the scars would be bright red. Not a pretty picture. But none of this was.

How many, he wondered, would be laughing at him before daybreak?

And why did it have to be Foxton?

CHAPTER

27

Though
Starchaser
had lain becalmed in a heavy mist the night after Maddie sighted the mysterious cloud in their wake, nothing untoward had come of it. No dark-tunicked Esurhites had swarmed over the gunwales in the wee hours, no arcane fireballs had materialized, and though the mist did not break until midmorning the next day, it did break and they continued on their way.

The cloud had reappeared in its place on their tail not long afterward, however, and continued to follow them over the next two days. Every now and then someone thought he’d seen something in it, but the sightings were never long enough or clear enough to be anything more than “something.” Rocks, unusually thick clots of mist, the occasional bit of flotsam, or even seabirds rising off the water’s surface could all account for the claims. Besides that, other similar clouds continually formed and unformed at all points of the compass around them.

If the mysterious cloud
did
hide Esurhite galleys, Windemere asked, why had they hung back for so long? As frail and unreliable as the wind had been, they could easily have captured
Starchaser
. Maddie might have argued that they hadn’t done so because they weren’t interested in taking a sailing vessel they’d have no use for in a windless realm. She might have suggested other possibilities, as well, but it all took too much effort. And the closer they got to their destination, the less she cared about any of it.

In fact, the morning of the third day after the sighting, the day they expected to reach Avramm’s Landing, she awoke beneath a mantle of such debilitating depression that for a while she couldn’t move. It pressed upon her like a physical weight. She didn’t want to get out of bed, didn’t want to eat, and didn’t care if they ever reached port. Just getting up and going on deck seemed a monumental effort, and when she considered the tedious, frustrating prospect of finding and booking passage to the west, it overwhelmed her. She wondered what in the world was wrong with her. Had some evil force come in the night and sucked away all of her vitality?

Then she remembered this was the day Abramm was to be married in Springerlan, and she rolled over, clutching the folds of her blanket against her chest as she buried her face in the rough cabin pillow. It was midmorning before she finally forced herself to get up and dress. As she sat for Liza to braid her hair, she stared blindly at the mist-veiled tableau outside the stern cabin’s window where the mystery cloud still hovered, closer now than ever. Part of her brain informed her this was a concern, but she watched it numbly, even so. Through the ceiling hatch, she heard the captain and his first mate discussing it, as well, and after a moment Captain Windemere called for the maximum amount of sail to be set.

Maybe it really is Esurhites,
she thought.
Maybe they’ll take us all away to the southland to be slaves. Then I won’t have to worry about booking passage
. And at the moment slavery seemed the more desirable of the two prospects. Surely she couldn’t be any more miserable than she already was. . . .

Something flickered in the cloud, drawing her focus. A brief glimpse of something solid. Not a rock, too high for flotsam, and definitely not a seabird. For the first time a spark of discomfit pierced her indifference.

It showed itself again: dark and angular, protruding briefly through the veil of gray and withdrawing—high above the water’s surface. “Did you see that?” she asked Liza.

“See what, milady?” the girl murmured absently, fingers tugging at Maddie’s hair as they worked.

“There was something in that cloud.”

“Probably a bird.”

“I think it’s a boat.”

“Well, we’re nearing Avramm’s Landing, so maybe it is.”

Maddie pressed her lips to keep from uttering the unkind response that came to mind. “We’re not that near. . . .” She kept her eyes on the cloud. “It’s never come this close before. Are you almost done?”

“Almost, milady.” Liza had reached the end of the long braid and was now looping it up around Maddie’s head to fasten it into place.

Once again the dark, angular shape pierced the mist and withdrew. “A dragon’s head,” Maddie murmured, thinking there was nothing like facing the prospect of real disaster to cut through the self-pity and put one’s problems into perspective.

“You think there’s a sea dragon in the cloud, ma’am?” Liza’s hands stilled on her head, and she knew the girl was looking aft.

“No. I am thinking that Esurhite galleys often have dragon’s heads on their prows. . . . Hurry up.”

As soon as Liza finished, Maddie snatched her spyglass from its shelf beside the table and joined Captain Windemere and his ship’s officers at the taffrail, telescopes trained on the cloud. It had by now halved the distance originally separating it from
Starchaser
. Moments after she arrived, all the angles came together and two narrow-prowed vessels, their sides bristling with oars, glided into view.

She stared at them openmouthed, horror closing her throat. Even with the fact she’d already guessed they were there, she wasn’t ready for the reality of seeing them, so close and so big. And so menacing, with those banks of oars flashing up and down in rapid and perfect unison, powering the vessels forward on a course straight up
Starchaser
’s wake.

“In a moment they’ll be within range of the stern chaser, sir,” said the first mate.

“Fire a ranging shot,” Windemere ordered. “Let ’em know we’ve got working powder.”

A series of shouted commands preceded the boom of a single round from the little gun mounted on the quarterdeck along the stern. Maddie watched the dark ball arc over the gray swells and fall only a little short of the two dark ships.

Instead of slowing, however, the galleys glided defiantly forward, leaving their cover of mist entirely.

“Another,” Windemere ordered.

The bark of a second round rattled Maddie’s teeth and shook her insides. This time the ball barely missed crashing into the deck of the leftmost galley. For answer, the oars’ rapid tempo increased.

“What the plague?!” Windemere growled. “Surely they don’t intend to ram us from behind.”

“I think they mean to board, sir,” his first mate said. He gestured at the boats. “D’ye see those groups of men there at the bows? Looks like they’ve got windlasses.”

“Indeed it does, Mr. White,” said the captain. “Though I don’t see any cables.”

“They’re probably cloaked,” Maddie said, watching the dark-tunicked men frantically cranking the levers of large, heavy-duty windlasses. “They probably attached them the night we lay becalmed outside Blackcliff,” she added.

From the corner of her eye she saw Windemere lower his spyglass to stare at her, appalled. “You mean t’ say we’ve been towing them all this way?”

“Most likely, sir. It was misty enough they could do it, and after all the miles they’ve come, their slaves are probably exhausted.”

“But why break cover now? And if they want to take us, why didn’t they do it that night at Blackcliff?”

“Because their main mission is probably to attack the fortress at Avramm’s Landing, and all they need from us is fresh muscle for their oars. Or they might think we spotted them earlier and didn’t want us to give warning. They might just want to twit you, too. Or perhaps do all three.”

Windemere began with the first of her suggestions: “Attack the fortress? With only two ships?”

“That’s all they sent against Graymeer’s.”

Windemere frowned and thought for a moment. “That was on the day of Abramm’s coronation.”

“Yes, sir,” Maddie said.

“And today he is getting married. . . .” He glanced again at her. “But why Avramm’s Landing? It’s hardly central to Kiriath’s defenses. And the thirty or so fighting men on those two galleys are not going to be able to take and hold an entire fortress.”

“They can if they have a Broho or priest on board, though I doubt they mean to take the fortress. They may want only to infiltrate it, find a place to hide within where they can help from the inside when the main fleet arrives.”

Belthre’gar, her brother had said, was supposed to have an obsession with capturing ancient Ophiran fortresses, particularly those whose guardstars were still in place. Avramm’s Landing fulfilled both qualifications.

Windemere digested this new information as he watched the approaching galleys. “We’ve got to find those cables and cut them loose.”

“Where would they be likely to attach them?” Maddie asked, peering over the edge of the taffrail.

Windemere glared at her. “Milady, you need to go below.”

“If you tell me where to look, Captain,” she said, “maybe I can see them. If I can see them, I can burn away the cloaking so you can cut them free.”

He couldn’t avoid the logic of her suggestion. And sure enough two cables were found fastened to the middenmast, running flat along the planking to loop around the bollards at either side of the quarterdeck, then out through the aft-most scuppers. But even with the cables released, their pursuers kept right on, their oar-driven speed considerably faster than
Starchaser,
hampered as she was by a faltering breeze.

The men on the windlasses had cut their cables loose the moment they saw themselves disconnected from the big ship, no doubt to avoid fouling the oars. On the galley’s decks now, soldiers in helmets and breastplates emerged from a hatch aft of each vessel and congregated at the bows. Many carried grappling hooks and coils of rope, and all were armed. Among the group on the leftward vessel appeared a bald man cloaked in black. Though Maddie had never seen his like before, she knew at once what he was: Broho.

Plagues! We have no chance of escaping. Oh, Father Eidon, we need help!

Around the Broho, the soldiers began to chant and the already feeble wind died.
Starchaser
slowed noticeably as mist congealed around her.

“Sir!” cried the man operating the stern chaser. “The gun won’t fire anymore.”

Windemere swore softly, then turned to Maddie. “My lady, you must go below.” His gaze shifted to his first mate. “Mr. White, take her to the cable tier, and see she’s well hidden.”

“Cable tier!” Maddie protested. “Absolutely not. I’m staying on deck.”

“My lady, if they know you’re here—”

“They already know, and I would rather dive into the sea than let myself be found trapped like a rat in the cable tier.”

Windemere scowled fiercely. “We’ve got them far outnumbered, miss. They’re not likely to be the ones to find you at all.”

“I sincerely hope you’re right, Captain, but if you want me in the cable tier you’ll have to drag me to it and tie me in there.”

The man’s scowl couldn’t get any darker, but at length he relented. “You are a stubborn one, aren’t you? Very well. Go to the foredeck. And stay out of the way.”

She gave him a nod and hurried down the companionway to the ship’s waist, where she met Liza emerging from the stern cabin. Seeing the terrified girl, she almost panicked herself, for she knew there was no way out. Regardless of their greater numbers,
Starchaser
’s crew would not withstand the Broho’s powers. Not if even half of what she’d heard of them was true. The only hope left would be to jump over the side.

“Can you swim?” she asked Liza, shaking her arm to get her attention.

The girl’s tear-filled eyes widened further. “No, ma’am.”

Plagues! Now what am I to do?

Commanding the girl to come with her, Maddie hurried to the place Windemere had assigned her and was barely hunkered down by the ship’s officers’ tiny cabins at the bow when the Esurhites swarmed over the stern, screaming like madmen. They had the whole of the ship’s crew to face them, nearly every one of the two hundred men armed with something—blade, dagger, awl, even makeshift clubs scavenged from the ship’s furnishings. Severely outnumbered, it seemed at first the Esurhites might be pushed back.

But then the dark figure of the Broho climbed over the taffrail and stood overlooking the ship, cloak billowing around him, the amulet on his chest glowing like a purple eye. His bald head gleamed in the gray light, and even with the entire length of the ship between them she felt his eyes upon her and shuddered with the menace they imparted. His mouth opened, his chest expanded . . .

And a great violet plume burst out of him, crashing into the main mast like a pot of burning pitch. Purple fire flew everywhere, igniting canvas, wood, rope, and chaos. In moments, the mainmast was ablaze. Flaming pieces of beams and ratlines and canvas rained down on the men waiting in the waist for their turn to repel the boarders. Smoke quickly obscured Maddie’s view of the quarterdeck, stinging her nostrils as Liza clung to her and whimpered. The roar of the flames and the screams and shouts of the men filled her ears.